


Self-Medication is Never a Good Long Term Plan

by EchoingDayDreams



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Drug Use, F/M, Jocelyn Is Dead, M/M, Multi, OT3, Self Harm, Simon is pan, Slow Burn, Vampire Simon, eventual relationships:, expect lots of gayness and saddness, first time writing in ages so be gentle, for kinda everything, lots of self destructive behaviour, maybe eating disorder, might not be perfect to characterization- but i try, not sure when it's really set in cannon, other characters etc will be added as i write more chapters, simon dealing with lots of issues, simon/clary/jace, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-23 08:42:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoingDayDreams/pseuds/EchoingDayDreams
Summary: pretty much simon is failing miserably at the whole transitioning to vampire lifestyle. killed a few people. addicted to drugs, self harm, homelessness. anything to distract him from the fact that he's a monster. these issues are hugely affecting those around him, who try to step in to help...





	1. beginnings or endings?

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing in like 4 years... be nice please! really this is just cause im in need of some serious angst shit that'll make me cry.

_What am I going to do?_  
His mind darted from thought to thought, never settling before being dragged to the next. For the first time in his life words failed him. How would he explain this? He couldn’t explain this

Her body lay on the ground a few feet from him. Her shoes had been kicked off at the door, a rush of alcohol and honey blonde hair bubbling through his memory.  
What had they done?  
Had he done this?

The nude tight dress she’d worn was pulled up, her underwear cast aside. Track marks, dots of red against pale white skin, blue with the peaceful shroud of death, stood out like an accusatory name tag  
‘Simon did this’  
there’s no way he can get away with this.  
What is he going to do?  
_What am I going to do?_

 

“Simon?”

her face had been so still. A stillness he’d only ever witnessed in others like him. It felt so natural for her to not be breathing. For her to –  
“Simon!”

“Ahh,.. shit yes, what?” he replied, opening his eyes. Clary was standing above him, concern and anger written over her face. He never understood how she could do that, two conflicting emotions at once. It was all in the eyes and the lips. The slanted eyebrows, the hurt and the pain that lay behind a mask of fury.  
“You need to leave.” She said it with such exhausted conviction, her shoulders falling as the words escaped her.  
“What?... what are you on about?”  
“You have to get out. Now. I can’t do this anymore… I’ve tried. I really have… I just…” her words puttered off, and those eyes, that pain was back.

_You did this_   
_You always do this_

He pushed a coat that he had slept under off his body, swinging his legs over the couch edge. He rubbed his eyes, trying to gain focus and understanding of what the hell was going on.  
“What do you mean?” He ran a hand harshly through his hair, a nervous tick he’d picked up, “I have to leave? Where the hell am I supposed to go?”  
His hand landed on the back of his neck, the point just where his hairline stopped. The scab he’d made a few days ago had already disappeared. _Of course_. He pressed his nail into the skin, slicing through it softly.

Clary refused to look at him. Instead her face was hung low, an arm wrapped around her body, protecting herself from this reality. Her copper hair was tied up, her clothing hung loose against her frame. He could smell the black coffee she’d been drinking, the terps and shellac and oil paints soaked into her skin.  
“I just need you to…”  
“To what? To ‘get better’” he said, accusatorily. His hands whipped up in finger quotations, a snarky fierceness lying under his words. He’d stood up quickly, quickly enough to remind Clary that he wasn’t the Simon she’d known. She’d loved. This was Simon 2.0, the new model, shiny and strong and fast. And dead.

_Also a murderer who is majorly addicted to a few substances but who reads the fine print these days?_

Clary’s eyes flickered towards his, pleading.  
“Please Simon… we can help you. We love you. I love you. Your mum and sister still don’t know where you are. I have to keep coming up with lie after lie. I can’t… I can’t lose you too. Not after, not after m-” she couldn’t finish the sentence, the death of Jocelyn still too soon for her to really comprehend.  
“I’m still here. It’s still me,” Simon replied, leaning forward, arm outstretched towards her. The lines of burn marks, like tallies across his skin, caught the fake white light of the studio. Sometimes he’d cut over them, then choose not to drink, just to have them remain on his skin. Then he’d find a den and binge till he was so high he couldn’t remember a single thing about his fucked up life.

Clary tentatively touched his outstretched arm, tracing the darker burn marks. As soon as Simon realized what he was revealing, he pulled his arm back, hiding it under the baggy hoodie he wore. He must still be high from last night.

_What were you thinking! You fucking idiot!_

“Simon” the sound of her voice was still hanging in the air when he escaped out the front door. A gust of wind against her skin as he disappeared again.


	2. A Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eating disorder trigger warning

Clary was sitting in Elaine’s living room, a cup of tea in hand. Elaine was sitting across from her, fists perched against her knees, trying ever so hard to stop them from trembling. The eggshell blue armchair washed out her pale complexion, accentuating the bags under her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping.

“Have you heard from him?” Elaine asked.

“Yes, he stayed at my studio last night.” Elaine’s eyes met Clary’s, desperation seeping through.

“What’s wrong with him? Why didn’t he stay?” Clary took a deep breath, the tea having already gone cold the focal point of all her attention. She just had to say it. A truth. Not the whole truth, but a version of it.

“Simon… is an addict.”

 

* * *

 

It was 2am, and Simon was hungry. Really hungry. He hadn’t had anything in 3 days, and his subsequent headache was starting to take its toll. He held the flask in his hand, the same one he’d been refusing to use, trying so desperately to just not consume anything. If he didn’t have anything, it would make everything better. He didn’t know why. He just felt like things wouldn’t be as bad if he could hold out, for just another hour. Then another after that. Maybe another day. Then he could drink.

He had to do something to fill this void, to stop the shakes and throbbing he felt deep in his body. He pulled out the 5th cigarette in a row, lighting it, and inhaling deeply. He knew he needed something more, but he had no money to get it. He paced quickly back and forth, puffing on the cigarette till the golden orange embers touched his fingertips. Warmth. Could he even remember what warmth felt like? What it meant to be truly, completely warm.

 

_Probably not. Do you deserve it though? thats the real question isnt it, and while we're asking ourselves questions how about we ask how the hell we're getting anything because this pain is just going to get worse and worse and you know that but there's nothing much we can do about it, and when did my subconscious start talking about us as though we're seperate beings, but i guess we are because if old Simon, good old breathing Simon, had any say in this we'd be dead..._

 

He hit his head, pounding the thoughts out. They get meaner when he’s hungry. _So hungry_. He suddenly caught the scent of what he’d been wanting. That sticky, chemical smell. Putrid. He wanted it so badly. As he followed the scent through the park, the yellow lamps forming shadows under his eyes and cheekbones, where glasses and stubble used to be. He knew if he caught himself in a mirror he’d look gaunt and crazed. The air was biting against his skin, and he knew that he should be pulling his hoodie closer to himself, but nothing really warmed him up these days. Frost had started to trace it's way across the grass of the park, an icy glow laying itself over the field, enclosing nature in a frosted, death-like embrace. It was beautiful. If only he could care to notice. 

 

_So hungry_

 

He followed the scent, winding his way down a shadowy pathway to an overbridge. Cars darted across, exhausting fumes that filled the air around him. Was he far from the park or still close? He couldn't remember. Laughter drew his attention to where the scent was coming from. Sickly flickering light sputtered across his face as he made his way under the bridge towards the smell. He could smell the people down there, four, maybe five of them. 

 

_Perfect_

He made his way down the edge of the bank, barely making a sound. He was just going to get what he needed, some weed or heroin, anything to remove the edge. Just one more day.

_One more day then you can reward yourself. One more day and you can survive this._

 

The laughter grew as he got closer. The tweakers had made a fire in an old trash can, and were standing around it, sharing a beer. Simon didn’t notice their faces. He couldn’t even tell how old they were. All he knew was that one of them had what he needed.

 

“Hey, heard you guys. It’s ah, it's cold out isn't it, mind if I squeeze in, get some warmth from the fire?” He said, approaching slowly. He tried to make himself as small as possible, to appear as little a threat as could be. Two girls stepped away instinctively-  _smart-_ whilst one of the few guys looked him over. He whispered under his breath to his friend, who nodded.

“You looking to buy?”

Simon’s face lit up, and he walked closer.

“What have you got?” he asked.

The man had a ratty beany on, and grime caked under his fingernails. His eyes and teeth were yellow, and his skin was covered in lesions.

“The good stuff” the dealer replied, and pulled out a little bag of white powder.

 

“How much?” Simon began to ask, but couldn’t finish as the sound of breaking glass echoed against their surroundings. And there it was. That smell. Thick, tantalizing. Like metal and chemicals mixed into one, it hit him immediately. Nothing else mattered.

One of the girls had dropped a glass beer bottle, which had smashed against a concrete block, slicing into her leg.

The next sequence went by like slow motion. As her friends started to react, as the blood pooled around her foot, and a scream was about to leave her lips, Simon moved.

He pressed his palm against the face of the dealer, pushing him head first into the bridge's concrete wall. The bag of heroin left his grip, falling to the floor. Simon quickly knocked out the other members as he made his way to the girl. The scream was just about to leave her as he sank his teeth deep, deep into her rubbery, thick flesh. The warm blood gushed out of her and into his mouth, dripping down his hoodie and over her chest. Her eyes fluttered back, the venom doing its work. He felt the electric surge of energy, of life force, shutter through him like a pulse, static that would fix everything. He didn’t realize he’d had too much till someone was pulling him off the girl. Her complexion was white, but she was still breathing.

 

“What the fuck are you doing!”

 

He rolled away from the intruder drunkenly, trying to find his footing, ready to take back what was his. His fangs were hanging low, blood as black as kings’ velvet pooling from his mouth. He wiped it away, leaving a red smear across his face.

 

“Simon, stop”

 

It was Luke. _Of course it was Luke. Who else would it be?_

 

“I just.. I need,” Simon said, pouncing forwards. Luke grabbed hold of him before he could reach the girl again. He’d definitely overdone it; he could barely walk. A smile so lost to reality pierced Simons face. Luke grimaced.

“That’s enough,” as Simon struggled to get out of his grip, “that’s _enough!_ ” and his eyes flared, the wolf willing and hoping to be set free.

 

“Simon, stop it,” A voice came behind him. Raphael.

“We need to get him back to Dumort,”

“I’d feel better with him at my apartment, where I can keep an eye on him,”

“You know that’s not safe,”

“I’ll put him in my basement, it’s made for cases like this,” after a brief pause, a moment of shared looks and contemplation, Raphael replied,

“If you insist,”

 

Simon had heard them, but all he really comprehended was the rushing throb that enveloped his body as the warmth of the blood seeped through his very core. He knew he was picked up by Luke, who took him in the back of a car that smelt strongly of dog. Simon assumed they were taking him to Luke’s apartment, but he didn’t really know. The rest of the night steadily disappeared from his memory, though flashes of blurry, joy filled colour surfaced every now and then.


	3. Detox just to Retox

Simon woke up on the floor, a scratchy woolen blanket covering his body. His head was throbbing, and as he moved, light sensors turned on, causing a splitting pain behind his eyes. Where the hell was he?

He took in his surroundings, trying to remember how he got here. The walls were dense, concrete. On top of them lay layers of sound cancelling foam.

_Holy shit I’ve been kidnapped by a serial killer! Holy shit holy shit!_

He twisted his body around and stood up, pushing himself to the farthest corner from the door, trying to understand more of his surroundings. There was no furniture, and the only other thing in the room was a security camera.

_Great, just great_

Seeing that there wasn’t anything that would help him, he bounded to the door, and started slamming his fists against it.

 

“Hey! Hello! Anyone there! Let me out of here you freak!” he yelled. A few minutes later he heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and footsteps made their way to him.

Luke looked through the bullet proof window in the door, of which Simon had been pounding on.

“Oh thank g- goodness, it’s just you. Hey man, long time no see,” Simon smiled, “what’s up with the new digs? You going to let me out?”

Luke looked at him with a face of sadness, of which Simon had no clue as to why. He tried to laugh it off, “C’mon, hey, open the door,”

“You don’t remember anything about last night do you?”

“What? Listen I don’t know why I’m in here, unless this is some weird joke or prank, or you’re into some very non P.C shit, but I just want to get back home,”

“Where is home for you these days, Simon?”

With that he pulled away from the glass. He’d been effectively homeless for a month now, moving from place to place, sleeping on friends’ couches, new and old, crashing at Dumort, or stealing back into his childhood bedroom when his mum and sister were out at work or school.

“C’mon man, this isn’t funny anymore,” Simon said, moving back to the window after somewhat collecting himself quickly.

“It hasn’t been for a while. I’ll bring down some blood in a couple hours, but you should think about where you’re at, cause it’ll only lead to more people getting hurt.” Simon turned his head away, unable to look Luke in the eyes. Anger slowly boiled over his pain, anger at losing control, of being talked to and looked after like a child, like some idiot addict who couldn’t look after himself. He didn’t want to face the emotions that would come if he didn’t get something to distract himself from them. He couldn’t deal with them. He just couldn’t.

 

a furious scream left his mouth as he slammed his fists against the door. Luke just stared on, unmoved, and walked away.

“Let me out! LET ME OUT!”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ideas? reviews? anything you'd like to see happen?


	4. Bad Habits and Good Friends Shouldn't Mix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for self harm, implied ED and mentions of substance abuse. implied NSFW. 
> 
> p much Simon dealing with issues now that he is being forced to sober up, Clary trying to help but that might not really work. Angst, self destruction, teens being stupid.
> 
> sorry i suck at summaries

Simon wasn't sure how many days he'd stayed locked up underground for. Luke would push a plastic bag of blood through an opening in the door every now and then, but Simon couldn't tell how long he went in between. 

 

He'd hammered his fists on the door for what seemed like hours, and if he could tire out he would have, however he realized that violence wasn't going to get him out of there. And he needed to get out. Soon. Memories of what he'd done, who he's hurt, who he'd kil-

_stop it_

Flashes of their faces littered his mind, popping up like he was trying to self sabotage, trying to cause himself pain. Again and again they appeared to him, their smiling faces, the fun they had, the taste of their skin against his tongue, the feeling of their hair through his hands. He'd find them at clubs or bars, enjoy a lot of drinks together, then find somewhere secluded, often their apartments. They'd flirt, then kiss, then fuck, steadily losing more and more control, his natural urges overtaking him, he'd press himself closer and closer to their bodies then, holding them firmly, pierce his teeth deep into their flesh. Their faces; the shock, horror, the violent fear in seeing their blood run down their bodies, then the haze that overtook them as his venom pulsed through their veins. A fog shrouded their eyes, and they would eventually lose consciousness. By that point Simon would have lost any sense of what his humanity would be screaming at him, he just knew he needed to have that one thing, the possession of another person, the total control and power that came with it. He needed it to survive, yes, but he also loved the rush, the warmth, the feeling of having someone's life in his hands. 

honey blonde hair, hazel eyes, then short brown hair and stubble, their faces usually lost behind a sheen of alcohol or drugs started to pierce through. 

_stop it stop it stop iT STOP IT! STOP IT!_

But the thoughts wouldn't stop, and their faces, the fear, the pure unrivaled fear of their death that captured their eyes just before the haze overtook them continued to plague his thoughts. He couldn't stop it. Not without some sort of distraction. Some sort of suppression. If he didn't get that, he'd resort to a release. And it was looking more and more like that was his only option. 

 

* * *

 

"How's he doing?" Clary asked as she took a seat in Luke's lounge. It had been a few days since Simon had been taken in by Luke. For a while Clary simply couldn't face the idea of going to see him, of witnessing Simon as bad as she was told he'd been. She'd finally gotten the courage to do so after a talk with Issy. She knew she had to be there for him, but what if he'd done something truly terrible? Could she still love him if he was a murderer?

Luke was in the kitchen making up an omelette for them both. His apartment was fairly small, with one bedroom, a study, one bathroom, and a lounge with one couch which you could take five steps from to be in the kitchen. He wasn't home often these days anyway, so he didn't need much. Just a small space to keep some clothes and food for when he couldn't be bothered getting take out. Delivery cost so much these days. 

Luke looked stoically on, concentrating intensely on the task at hand. 

"Luke?" Clary asked again, turning in her seat to peer over the couch at him. The TV was blaring, and a red light was filtering through his blinds. The whole thing was such a mess. 

"He's not great,"

"...I know. Is there anything I can do?" Luke finished up the impromptu dinner, plating it, slathering it in ketchup, then handing it to Clary. She smiled softly back as she took the plate, and leaned back into the stained couch. 

"He's got to detox for now. Who knows what he's got running through his body," Luke replied, sitting down on an old bar stool to the right of her. They both turned to the TV which was declaring the weather for the next week. 

"Weird," Clary said,

"Huh?"

"This; eating and watching the weather. It's so normal. It's like nothing even happened. My best friend's an addict who may have killed people, you're a werewolf, I'm a shadowhunter and Mums-" She quickly dropped her head. How did everything get so fucked up so fast? She wished she could open her phone and call Simon, to yell and cry and get it all out of her system. Instead he was the one that needed saving. 

"It'll be okay kid, we've just got to get through this rough patch, that's all,"

"What if it's not just a rough patch? What if it never ends? What if I've turned Simon into a- into a vampire, and he's completely gone, there's nothing of him truly left, and it's all my fault!" 

"He's still Simon, Clary. When you're turned you're dealing with so many new things... And he's got you to help him, you don't know how important it is to have someone there to remind you of who you are,"

"Like what mum did for you." Luke turned away from Clary slightly, eyes lost in the past. 

"... yes, like Jocelyn."

 

 

 

They finished up the food in silence, letting the TV do the talking for a while. Plates discarded to the side, they sat with their thoughts, processing everything that they'd been through. Clary finally turned back to Luke, a small but genuine smile on her face.

"Guess I should go down to see Simon now right?"

Luke pressed his hands against his legs and sighed, " yeah, I guess so."

 

* * *

 

Simon had attempted to stay as far away from the blood as possible. He didn't want any. He didn't deserve it. It made him a monster. It legitimized the fact that he was dead, that he'd done those horrible things. He had to stay away from it.

There were three packages on the floor by the door, exactly where they'd fallen after being pushed through the gap. His head was burning and his eyes were blurring. Every time he closed his eyes he thought of them. 

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep till he woke up screaming, fangs puncturing his bottom lip, nails digging into the ground. Reeling from the nightmare, realizing that it had just been that; a nightmare, he pulled his legs up to his body and ran a slightly shaking hand through his hair. He found that spot on the back of his neck again and punctured it deeply. He could smell his own blood as it seeped slowly from under his skin. Remembering that he didn't need to breathe anymore, that he was actually dead, his body froze. He didn't need to react the way he had. It was a human reaction. And he wasn't human anymore. _Speaking of..._

He pulled himself up off the concrete floor and grabbed one of the blood bags. Cold blood was the absolute worst, but it'd have to do. His fangs extended, allowing him to puncture a hole in the top. 

_If only Luke gave me a straw_

He was about finished when he recognized the sound of footsteps coming towards his room. Two sets. 

_What the hell is going on_

He downed the remaining blood and cast the bag aside, standing up to move towards the door, hoping to gain a better look at what was happening. Had Luke brought someone to check up on him?

As he was about to reach the door he smelt her. Clary. A scent hot like the sun yet also warm like winter nights spent cuddling with a hot water bottle. She was home and danger mixed into one. 

_Fuck_

 

"Simon," Luke yelled at the glass pane in his door, "Clary's here. We're coming in." 

The door was unbolted from the ground and ceiling, then two sets of deadlocks, and finally a metal bar latched over the front was pulled up. 

_So that's how dangerous I am then_

He hated that he was. He also hated that he loved it. 

He'd started getting proper withdrawals, hands twitching, headaches and jolts, like electricity running through his body. If he was alive he'd be getting heart palpitations and would be sweating with a fever. Thankfully he didn't have to deal with that too. He pulled his ratty jumpy over his cut up and punctured arms, retreating to the corner. Thank god he'd had something, otherwise this wouldn't end well very quickly. Now it might just not end well on his own merit.  _Yay_

Luke entered first, finding the two untouched blood bags poking out from behind the door. 

"Not hungry?"

"Something like that," Simon replied, sinking down to the floor.  _Keep it together._

"Simon?" Clary said, her voice nervous. He hated that. Or did he love it? Could he feel both at the same time? 

_Fuckk_

"Hey Clary." Luke looked him over, this hunched up boy he'd known for so long. He wasn't handling this well, not many do, and he knew that it was a part of becoming something undead and violent, but it was still hard to disconnect from that and see Simon as the angry, violent addict he was. And that version of Simon was dangerous. 

Clary pushed past Luke, and slowed as she really took in where she was. Simon, thin, washed out and jittery sitting hunched in the corner of a concrete cell. How could she let this happen?! She wanted to run to him, to save him. 

"Luke... I'll be alright. Leave the door open if you want, but I need to talk to Simon, just us." Luke was not happy with that, and made sure she knew it. But nothing could really stop Clary once she'd decided on doing something. Even if it was reckless and life-threatening. 

"Alright. I'll shut the door, but I'll be right outside,"

"Okay," Clary replied, a trusting smile on her face. 

 

After the door was shut she turned towards Simon. Tilting her head to the side, she tried to get his attention, to see his eyes, to see his face. 

"Hey," she said again, and after a short pause he replied,

"Hey."

"Listen, Simon, I know I messed up, okay? I know this is my fault, I just, I couldn't lose you. I couldn't let you die," She said, sinking to the floor opposite him. They were both so exhausted. Not just from all the hours spent running and fighting, but from everything that had happened to them since Clary had figured out what she was. 

"I'm dead Clary. You lost me anyway. But now I'm a blood drinking monster who gets to hang around and see everyone  _I_ love die, so thanks." It had the reaction he'd wanted. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she turned away from him for a second. 

"You're not... you're still you. You're still Simon. We still have all that time, our whole lives, to spend together,"

"Only at night. And away from my family. And when you get time away from the Shadowhunting world,"

"I'll make the time Simon,"

"It's not even about that Clary! I'm dead! I've killed-"

"What?"

"I've... I've killed people Clary. I'm not who you think I am." So Luke had been right, the bodies they'd found had been Simon's victims. Thoughts pooled into her head, fear, regret, anguish, sorrow. How was she going to deal with this? How was she- and then she looked up and saw him. Yes he had bags under his eyes, and his skin was pale, his hair unkept, but as they made eye contact she knew it was still Simon. Her Simon. 

"Simon," she whispered, his name falling from her as a deep exhale, the final crack in a dam that was breaking. Before she realized it she'd leaped across the room, taking him up in her arms. She kissed his forehead as tears streamed down her face, "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, I never meant to, I never wanted this, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Simon was rigid underneath her initially, trying to hold it all back, trying to keep in control. That's what his life was now, keeping everything locked away, stopping any sense of real emotion as it would just overwhelm him. But as her tears dripped onto his face, and he heard her heart beating faster beside his head, he buckled. Leaning into her warm embrace he felt the tears begin to fall from his own eyes, his arms pull out from under his legs to wrap around her. After twenty minutes of simply holding each other close, crying out all their frustrations and sadness, they pulled away, laughing slightly as how ridiculous they must look. 

"I know it's you, I know it's still you. You're not a monster Simon. You're not," Clary said, wiping tears from her face. She planted a final kiss on his forehead, breathing in the smell of his hair. He still smelt like him. 

"I honestly... I honestly don't know if I can do this. Clary. I don't know how I can do this." Clary contemplated it for a second, then suddenly pulled away from him. She pulled her sleeves up and without a second thought slashed across the upper part of her forearm. The scent of flame and home erupted around him as blood pooled into the gap she'd made within her skin. 

"Clary- what... get away from me!" Simon said, realizing what she'd done. He kicked out, pushing her up into the opposite far corner of the room whilst simultaneously retreating to the other. 

"Get out!" He yelled. His fangs had dropped, and his nails extended. He dug them deep into his own skin, trying to distract himself from what he wanted most. 

"I trust you," She said, pulling herself up. Blood was running down her arm as she walked slowly towards him. 

"Do you want me to kill you! Is that it!"

"I trust you, I trust you, I trust you," she kept repeating. She pulled his hood off his head with her good hand, and trailed her fingers down the side of his face. She met his eyes, hers steady with a confidence she didn't know she had, his shaking, searching the room for any sort of escape. 

 

"Simon-" their eyes locked, " I trust you," 

 

 


End file.
